The Woes of Being Immortal
by abovethepage
Summary: Abe finds a journal belonging to his dear friend and father, Henry Morgan. "Dear friend and father" is less than pleased, because that particular journal contains a list of what he considers to be his favorite and least favorite deaths. Although he claims it to be "rather personal" Abe still gets an entertaining story out of him. AKA Henry describes the ups and downs of immortality


**Just some bored ramblings...**

 **Disclaimer: Forever does not and will never belong to me. It belongs to... someone creative and wonderful, although their name eludes me.**

When Abe had first found the journal, Henry had been mildly intoxicated. Otherwise, he probably would've ripped it out of his son's hands before he had the chance to open it.

It wasn't that he didn't trust him, he already knew everything regarding his secret. But some of the information written in the journal was rather disturbing.

Abe's eyes had skimmed the pages briefly before widening in what was most likely horror. Henry had waited, uncomfortable, unsure of the reaction he was about to receive.

"Henry you've-" he swallowed nervously. "You've died from having too much sex before?"

There was a short pause before Henry went flying over the coach, hands outstretched for his book. Abe, who had always been rather spry for a man of his age, avoided him easily.

"Abe! I swear, give me that book!"

His son merely raised an appraising eyebrow before continuing to scan the pages.

"Henry. How can you possibly expect me to give this back?" His age worn fingers stroked the paper absentmindedly. "This is a goldmine of information."

Henry struggled to his feet, swaying slightly.

"Look at this! Drowning. Asphyxiation. Tiger attack. I'm learning so much." His son laughed. "I didn't know you kept a list of all the times you've died."

Henry glared hopelessly for several more seconds before giving up and collapsing onto the sofa. "It's not just a list of my deaths. I've died a lot more times than is in there. It's a list of my favorite and least favorite deaths."

Abe dropped onto the sofa next to him, holding the book on the side farthest from Henry. If he were to be asked, Henry was fairly sure he would have said it was unintentional. It was clearly not.

"How did you even find that book? Even I had forgotten where it was."

Abe chuckled and continued to flip through ink stained pages. "I was dusting."

Henry raised an incredulous eye brow. "Dusting inside of a locked case in my study?"

Abe turned to face him. "I though you said you had forgotten where it was?"

Henry sniffed disdainfully, mildly upset he was being so careless. "I was just trying to relax after a hard days work. Coming home, drinking a glass of scotch, enjoying myself without interruption." Abe ignored his complaints completely, only leveling him with a look.

"Fine. I still write in it occasionally. You happy?" Henry reached out for his glass with trembling fingers. He sipped the gold liquid inside, appreciating the burn as it went down. Abe watched him carefully.

"I see here that "drinking yourself to death" was one of the best ways to go."

Henry placed his glass down and began to laugh uproariously. "Ah yes. The death part wasn't pleasant, but the beforehand was quite fun."

Abe smiled slowly, wrinkles creasing and spreading outwards in what he most likely thought was an innocently happy look. He reached across the table and placed the glass of scotch back within Henry's grasp. "Well, do share."

Henry, to his credit, did feel some degree of suspicion. But the warm lights of the antique store and the pleasant buzz of alcohol was making the feeling fade. Besides, the thought of reliving one of his more entertaining memories sounded appealing.

He had always said he was never big on nostalgia. However, he had decided to write large portions of his life down in an journal, or at least how it ended. So, perhaps that wasn't completely true. And besides, what was the harm in a bit of sharing?"

Abe seemed to sense his change in demeanor because he suddenly turned to face him, eyes shining eagerly. The journal lay forgotten in his lap, and for the briefest of moments, Henry imagined snatching it up and just running.

But the call of old memories was beckoning him closer.

"Alright. Well, here is the story of one of my favorite deaths. In which I drank myself into an early grave..."


End file.
